Glorified
by on the backs of angels
Summary: "And that was enough. I was done. Happy. Redeemed. Finally myself." Luke searches for redemption for his actions.


**For the challenge at LawlClan. Prompt: _It is never to late to be what you might have been._ -George Eliot.**

**Special thanks to Prea (thepremaster22), for help with beta'ing! **

"It will be your moment of glory," he said.

But all it felt like to me was becoming a puppet, with a master who had not a care for my safety.

In the blackness, the darkness of my coffin, I felt him, my master, Kronos. I felt him on my mind just as surely as I could feel the lid of my container above me. He began the process slowly, at first, beginning with a slow needling sensation.

Very quickly, though, the little pinpricks became searing pain. Something no human mind had ever, or should ever have to experience.

Do you not believe me? Imagine putting a rusty sword into a fire for about twenty minutes. Then lay on your back, and have someone drop it through your stomach. While you're at it, run into a cactus, put a needle under your toenail and kick a wall, dunk your head in some liquid nitrogen and stick your arms into a beehive.

You are still nowhere close to the amount of pain that wracked my body for that awful time.

I sat there in my misery; waiting for the pain to end, waiting for who knows how long. The seconds seemed to last an eternity, stretching themselves out to make the pain last. During that time I cursed Ethan Nakamura, the last pledge and the final piece of the soul. I cursed him with every ounce of strength I had in me, cursed him for being the one to set this torment upon me, even though in some way I must have asked for the torment he provided.

When the torment ended, though, when the pain stopped, I didn't feel glorious. I felt detached; unrelated to the world around me.

As my body stood up around me with no prompt from my conscience, I realized why.

I had no control of my body.

Instantly I began a grapple with the mind where my mind should have been. I needed control, had to be able to flex muscles and wield a sword once again. I feel the strength of his self, his being, and I know that this is one battle I will never win. But still I try, shoving the brunt of my mind against his and looking for an opening in the impenetrable wall of blackness that keeps me from my own body.

While I clawed and tore at his mind, it expanded, beginning to crush me against the walls of my own skull. I couldn't breath, even though I could feel my body breathing. Slowly, he was killing me without killing my body.

A flash of blue. His mind retreating in pain. I had control, if only for a moment.

"Ow!" was my automatic response.

It was the only response I got before I was immobilized inside myself again. Trapped in my own head.

_Oh gods, _I thought. _Why did I ever agree to this?_

For a long time after that, I wallowed in my own self-pity. _Why did I agree? Could I have done something else? What can I do now? _And, most selfishly, _Am I going to die?_

Maybe I could have done something, and maybe I couldn't have. All I know now, though, is that while I sat in my misery, time passed faster than I could imagine. When one is cut off from any senses, like I had been, time passes differently. In a way, it's a soothing calm, and yet at the same time it drives you mad, the way it's impossible to know how much time has gone by.

Which means that when something brought me back to reality, I thought that it was voices that had begun to speak to me in my head.

"Jackson, Sir."

I felt a blast of rage from Kronos's mind, before everything was gone and I was left with only my thoughts.

_Jackson. _Perseus Jackson. What did that mean? Was he back? Was he _here-_-wherever _here_ was? If so... Not if so. He'll be destroyed, by Kronos, by _me_ in some freaky way.

It was too much. It was all too much. I did what I always did when I was overwhelmed: I constructed my perfect world inside my head.

Annabeth was there, and my mother, except she wasn't crazy. My father was there, too, except I knew he would stay, and he loved me. He was proud of me. The grass was greener, the sky was cleaner, and everything was more beautiful.

And my father was proud of me.

Proud.

Even as I was building up my world, it came crashing down around me. I felt Kronos slip, in the heat of battle, and my body's instincts took over. A slash forward, and my blade hit his arm.

Then he was over the side of the boat and everything around me was flames.

Heat. Flames. But no harm done to my body.

Darkness.

There was darkness for a long time, I remember. A long time, but maybe a short time, too, for in that darkness time did not pass as it does to you, with your senses. Slowly, though, I began to feel recovery in his mind.

More flashes of pain, rage, and disappointment occurred. I took advantage of every single one, to try and break free and gain control. With each and every one, though, he pulled me back under to the dream-inducing darkness that has held me captive for so long.

I caught glimpses of sight and sound.

"I don't remember, Sir."

"The Minotaur was defeated. Again."

"He beat Hyperion. Using the Satyrs."

Rage and anger were the only emotions that were being fed to me; the only outside emotions I could feel. They all came from him. From Kronos. My master; my despicable master. The one I swore to serve.

But not on the Styx. I knew better.

Something happened.

I could feel it. In the air. In his head. In my head. Everywhere.

Kronos had lost control. He was angry. A burning rage filled his head and expanded, pressing my conscience against the walls of my mind, suffocating my thoughts. I was in control of myself, though, my own body. Under my control, completely.

I was free.

"Family, Luke. You promised."

I saw Annabeth in front of me, heard her words in my head. "Promise," I said as strongly as I could. _Kill me, Annabeth,_ I wanted to say. _Kill me, my body, the thing in my head. Kill us all._

But all that came out of my mouth was "Annabeth." My voice sounded strange to me, stranger than the feeling of Kronos in my head. But it's means were effective.

"My knife," she said, dropping it on the floor away from her shattered arm. "Percy, please..." she gasped out. Jackson ran forward and grabbed her knife, and knocked the foreign sword out of my hand with it.

"Don't touch her," he growled, even though I wasn't planning on it.

That's when I felt something was wrong. Kronos wasn't fighting for control anymore; he was expanding himself outside of my body. I saw the gold-colored halo of light growing around me. "He's changing. Help. He's... He's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-"

I was cut off by my own voice, but it wasn't really my voice. It belonged to Kronos. "NO!" it shouted. My body ran to the hearth where the sword was sitting.

"The knife, Percy... Hero, cursed blade," I heard Annabeth telling Percy, but only just. Then the sword was in my hands. It burned through my protection. It hurt. Kronos retreated. I was in control, but for who knows how long?

"Please, Percy..." I groaned as he walked towards me with the knife. _Kill me, kill me now. Kill me, Percy, kill me Jackson, kill me out of mercy. Please kill me. _He raised the knife to strike, but I stopped him. "You can't... can't do it yourself. He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can... can keep him controlled." He looked at Annabeth. Why was he looking at her? He had to kill me, had to kill me now. _KILL ME. _"Please. No time," I managed.

The knife. He gave me the knife and I used it, I stabbed myself where I had to. In my Achilles heel, my weak point just under my arm.

_Agony._

I must have screamed, I must have yelled, I must have shouted. I don't remember, though, because the world around me exploded into golden stars. When I finally came to, Annabeth was there, and Percy, and Grover, too. "Good... Blade..." I smiled, or tried to. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew..."

"Shh," her voice is telling me. Annabeth. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

I didn't want that. I wanted rebirth. I wanted redemption for my past actions. "Think... rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."

She was crying. Why was she crying? I was dying, I was dead, that is good. Why? "You always pushed yourself too hard." I raised my hand to hers.

"Did you..." I hesitated, not from pain but from uncertainty. "Did you love me?" I asked. I wanted to know. My last wish.

"There was a time I thought... Well, I thought..." she wiped a tear from her eye. "You were like a brother to me, Luke, but I didn't love you."

I nodded. It was right.

"We can get some ambrosia," I heard Grover say.

"Grover, you're the bravest Satyr I ever knew. But no. There's no healing..." I was cut off by a fit of coughing.

I had one more thing to say, though. I wasn't done yet. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed..." I grabbed Jackson's arm. "Don't let it happen again."

"I won't," he said, but it wasn't enough. He had to promise, he needed to. "I promise."

And that was enough. I was done. Happy. Redeemed.

Finally myself.


End file.
